Destination
by Aletta-Feather
Summary: Ichabod and Abbie disagree on something. They have different tastes when it comes to traveling. Short one-shot.


**It's not the destination that counts, but the journey towards it…**

Ichabod had been a resident of Sleepy Hollow for a couple of weeks yet he was still daily amazed at the changes the world had seen. The noises were the worst; mostly made by motorized vehicles called cars. Horrible noises also came from objects flying over; Abbie had laughed when he had mentioned he would not be caught dead in one of them.

"You wait and see," she said. "One day, you may need them…"

Ichabod thought the better of it. Ships were worse enough, not to mention these dreadful cars. Although they were quicker and certainly more comfortable than carriages, they were also highly dangerous. They could catch fire, they could crash into everything and anyone… At least horses knew what they were doing most of the time: they were smart and could think for themselves, cars however… Why these people considered it progress was beyond him.

He had already made the case for a carriage several times but Abbie would not listen. Not one of the advantages could sway her, however much he pushed his case. Whenever he brought up the subject, she would mentioned the Amish. And so, after being sick for the third time after a fast and bumpy car ride, he had decided to do some research. These Amish sounded quite interesting. He would like to get acquainted with them.

The nearest Amish town was not that far away. By bus, another one of those metal monsters, it took him but two hours. Abbie had asked what his plans for the weekend were, but he had claimed it was a secret. She had tried to pry it out of him but had failed miserably. He smiled at the memory, gazing out of the window, enjoying the sight of the fields.

Just before their last stop, the bus driver had just shouted that message to the passengers in an effort to be heard over the sound of the motor, he saw one.. A carriage. A real carriage; small but unmistakably a carriage. The initial shock on his face had been replaced by a large grin. They still existed… Now to procure one… And a horse, of course…

T' was easier said than done. He had some money on him, but the prices of horses and carriages had definitely altered. As nice as the Amish were…

They did not need electricity or cars; they were just like him, which made him feel less out of place and even erased a bit of that loneliness. As nice as they were… they were good businessmen, first and foremost. They would not sell their prize possessions so easily. The two men he was negotiating with, a father and son, were interested but proved difficult to persuade.

Finally, he offered them some of his hidden gold. An old watch belonging to his grandfather. Some gold coins, even a few precious stones. They declined. They couldn't determine the worth, nor were they interested in vanities. He let a curse fall from his lips, which did not help his efforts…

Downtrodden, he took residence in yet another motel. Instead of turning on the T.V. like most of the guests did, he spent the evening discovering his surroundings. A beautiful lake was only a short walk away. With no-one in the vicinity, not a soul in sight, he took a chance. Quickly he dispelled of his clothes and let the soft warm water embrace him. It was a lovely place for a swim. In the distance, but not that far away, he could hear shouting… People were rejoicing as if they had won a battle. Ichabod did not know what was going on. No doubt it had to do with sports….

The following morning, he ventured into town. And there, he spotted just the store he needed. A jeweler. He quickly entered and found that the storekeeper did not treat him in a disparaging manner, something he almost had gotten used to, but with respect instead. A welcome change. The jeweler and his wife were very interested in the stones, and were willing to pay a considerable sum for them. It was almost enough for his purpose, but not quite.

He was a little disappointed, such a shame his coins didn't have value anymore. Ichabod didn't have much of the current paper money on him.

"Do you have an interest in old.." he began. So strange to refer to his money as old as he had just been paid before he met the one he decapitated…

"coins.. They are golden."

"Let's have a look, shall we?" the old man said. As he looked at the coins, he eyes shone brighter and brighter… "Their value…"

"He's a collector," his wife interrupted. "Loves them old coins…"

Her husband gave her an annoyed look. "I would very much like to… have them. I will pay you handsomely.. ."

Ichabod smiled. This was welcome news. "How well exactly?" he asked.

Well enough for his purpose, and then some… That afternoon, he left the sleepy town, with a horse and an Amish buggy. The following Monday, when Abbie came to collect him, she found a note pasted on his door.

_I have arranged my own means of transport, though I do thank you for aiding me in that regard so far. With my deepest respect, Ichabod Crane._

With a shake of her head and a puzzled expression, she left for the station. Two streets before her destination, she saw… a carriage. An actual carriage…. It looked like an Amish buggy, but there were no Amish in Sleepy Hollow… Were there? She slowed down and as she passed, she looked at the coachman. He waved at her, _and _he smirked.


End file.
